


Overlook This Supposed Crime

by anysin



Series: Therapy AU [1]
Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Abuse of Authority, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Do Not Archive (The Magnus Archives), Doctor/Patient, Dubious Consent, First Time, Iddy Iddy Bang Bang 2019, Insomnia, M/M, Masturbation, Sexual Abuse, Therapy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-18
Updated: 2019-09-18
Packaged: 2020-10-20 12:00:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,280
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20675042
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anysin/pseuds/anysin
Summary: Teenage Jonathan Sims starts therapy with Elias Bouchard, whose conduct with patients turns out to be very inappropriate.





	1. Introductions

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by Anonymous in the [iibb2019](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/iibb2019) collection. 

> **Prompt:**  
Teenage Jonathan Sims starts therapy with Elias Bouchard, whose conduct with patients turns out to be very inappropriate.
> 
> My god heed the warnings. Not meant to be a realistic story.

The therapist's office is a small, comfortable place. There is room for a sofa, two armchairs, a writing desk with its chair and a shelf full of books; it's kind of like a small apartment, with only the bed missing. Jon wonders if it's supposed to inspire trust in him, but it doesn’t. And neither does his therapist..

"So, Jon." Bouchard sits down in the armchair opposite to Jon’s, crossing one knee above the other as he rests his notepad against it. "Tell me what's been bothering you."

Jon sighs. As far as he's considered, nothing has been bothering him; he just doesn't sleep well, which could happen for any reason. He doesn't know why his grandmother insisted that psychological reasons would need to be ruled out, but that's why he is here. He might as well get started; maybe that will put an end to this nonsense soon.

"I can't sleep," Jon says. "My grandmother thinks that makes me crazy. Does it?"

He expects to be laughed at, and he is; Bouchard chuckles softly at his words.

"Crazy is an outdated term," Bouchard says. "You are simply- not all right."

Jon snorts. "Well, that's obvious."

"And we need to figure out the reason why. For that, I need your cooperation." Bouchard leans forward, staring at Jon until Jon agrees to meet his eyes. "We can put an end to your sleepless nights, Jon. We just need to work together."

Jon can't help but find it all a bit ridiculous. But this is what his grandmother wants, and Jon wants to keep on living peacefully with her; if this is how he'll achieve that, he'll do it. He doesn't know what he thinks about baring his soul to this man, if he wants to do it at all, but he supposes he will soon find out.

"I guess we're doing it, then," he says, sighing a little. "So, what's next?"

Bouchard smiles to him. It's almost a warm smile. "Well, Jon, you can start by telling me about yourself."

*

Jon talks. He tells Bouchard about his life, his relationship with his grandmother, school; he talks about how his insomnia manifests, how it has been affecting his life. Bouchard sits back and lets him talk, writing notes and watching Jon with his sharp eyes.

"Walk me through a typical night in your mind," he says to Jon.

Jon takes a deep breath. This is when it really starts, he thinks, when they start to dwell into his issues- whatever he has.

"I go to bed between ten and eleven o'clock at night. I usually think about the things that have happened during the day, the things I've seen, things I've read." He sighs. "Then I keep thinking about them, over and over again, until it's been several hours or it's already morning and I haven't slept at all."

"I see." Bouchard scribbles something down. "When you do sleep, do you dream?"

“Sometimes.” Jon shifts uncomfortably in his chair. “I don’t always remember them.”

"Do you have nightmares?"

Jon hesitates.

After waiting for a while for Jon to say something, Bouchard sighs. "Jon, it's important that you talk to me. The more I know, the better I can help you."

He knows that. Jon sighs again, then says: "Yes. Almost always."

"What are they about?"

This is the embarrassing part. "Spiders."

There. That's something he hasn't even admitted to his grandmother. It's just humiliating, that a boy of his age is having nightmares about goddamn spiders. He looks down, feeling his face heat up.

"Arachnophobia is a very common fear," Bouchard says. His voice is soft and understanding. "You have nothing to be ashamed of." Jon hears Bouchard write something down before he closes his notepad, putting it away on his desk. "We will continue from this, but to wrap this session up, I would like to teach you something."

As Jon looks up again, Bouchard stands up from his chair, walking over to Jon. He circles behind him and reaches out to rest his hands on Jon's shoulders, pulling Jon back until Jon is leaning fully against the back of his chair.

"A simple breathing exercise," Bouchard says. "I want you to breathe in on a count of three, and out on a count of six. Keep doing it until I tell you to stop."

Jon hesitates for a moment before starting, inhaling and exhaling through is nostrils, taking his time with the exhale. He even closes his eyes so he can concentrate on the breathing and the way his body feels; he tries to ignore the weight of the slim hands on him, the sound of Bouchard's calm, even breaths behind him. It's not easy, but he keeps breathing, settling into a rhythm.

Much to his own surprise, he starts to feel sleepy.

"All right, you can stop now." Bouchard pulls away from him, hands sliding off Jon’s shoulders as he circles back in front of Jon, looking down at him. "How did it feel?"

"F-fine, I think." Jon blinks; he feels tired all the time, but this time his exhaustion feels lighter, somehow. He looks at Bouchard. “What is this?”

"This is something you can do to relax yourself at nights. Let's see if it helps." Bouchard smiles to him, reaching out to give Jon's shoulder a light squeeze before pulling away for good. "You did well today, Jon."

Jon's not sure if he agrees - he doesn't think he has done anything - but he has to admit that the words feel good, as did the exercise. Maybe that means Bouchard knows what he's doing. Maybe this whole thing could go somewhere.

"I guess I did," he says. "Until next time?"

Bouchard smiles. It's a content smile. "See you next week, Jon."

*

That night when Jon's lying in his bed, he tries the breathing exercise.

He succeeds in lulling himself to a soft, slack state. The moment he stops, he could swear he feels something skittering across his skin, and the rest of his night is ruined.


	2. Curveball

Jon tries at the therapy, he really does. He decides to open up to Bouchard, telling him about all his failed breathing exercises and his nightmares. He listens when Bouchard tells him to keep a dream diary, when he teaches him more breathing exercises. He tries his hardest to make things work.

He still doesn't sleep.

It's frustrating, but the therapy isn't entirely pointless. The dream diary helps him to analyze his dreams, divide them by severity and identify common themes in addition to the ever present spiders and their webs. The breathing exercises help him relax, even if sleep itself keeps eluding him most of the time. These things make him want to trust Bouchard, even though he remains cautious. He is sure something is going to shake his tentative faith in this man and soon enough, he’s proven right.

*

The curveball arrives during their fourth session.

"Do you masturbate?"

As surely intended, it catches Jon completely by surprise. He stares at Bouchard, utterly shocked.

"T-that's," he stammers, trying to gather himself. He looks away from Bouchard, feeling a red flush creep on his cheeks. "That's none of your business."

The answer is no, of course. He has never tried, he has never wanted to try; never had the interest nor the desire. He never thought it would come up during these sessions, that it would even matter. Is Bouchard trying to humiliate him?

"Jon, it's all right." Bouchard sounds like he's smiling, but when Jon turns to look at him, his face is neutral. "The reason I brought such a- _private_ matter up is that it happens to be very effective in helping your body relax. Breathing exercises haven't helped much, now have they?"

"A little," Jon says, too hastily; he's lying and they can both tell, but he tries to stick with his words. "I'm sure that with time-"

"Time isn't something we have, Jon. The longer your problem persists, the more you suffer." Bouchard leans slightly forward, and it takes a lot of self-restraint for Jon not to back up as much as possible.

"I think you could use a regular release of endorphins into your brain, which is what we can achieve with this," Bouchard says. "You should add masturbation into your daily routines."

Jon finds himself laughing in disbelief, unable to believe he's having this conversation. "This is-"

"Unorthodox?"

"Inappropriate," Jon says.

Bouchard smiles a bit. "Perhaps. But we need to explore all the options we have." Bouchard leans back again, sighing softly. "Give it a try, Jon. It won't hurt you."

Jon doesn't know what to say. Bouchard is right that the breathing exercises haven't helped him solve his sleeping problem, even if they have aided him in relaxation; he needs something more. But to touch himself- it’s just absurd. Part of him feels like he should be walking out of this office right now, tell his grandmother about what is going on and put and end to the whole therapy.

He worries on his lip, not moving.

"I want to keep trying the breathing exercises," he says after some time. "I think they can help. I just- I just need to keep trying."

Bouchard nods. "Of course. You don't have to do anything that you don't want to do, Jon." Bouchard writes a few things down into his notepad, then glances over to him. "How did this conversation make you feel?"

Jon hesitates.

"It made me uncomfortable," he admits. "I- I don't really do it. Masturbate, I mean."

"Hmm." Bouchard writes down a note. "Is it out of disinterest or shame?"

"Disinterest," Jon says instantly; he and his grandmother may not discuss the matters of sex that much, but it's not a forbidden subject either. Jon has no reason to feel shame about sex-related matters, even though that doesn’t stop him from feeling embarrassed. "I just don't care for it."

"Each to their own." Bouchard closes his notepad, glaring at Jon as he puts it away. "Keep it in mind as an option, however."

Jon nods. He has no intention to do it.

*

He keeps doing his breathing exercises. They keep failing; he relaxes himself to the point he starts to feel sleepy, only to find himself starting awake once he starts imagining something moving on his skin or in his bed, or when the images of spiders flash across his mind's eye. It’s infuriating. It fills him with despair.

But one thing changes. The few dreams he has now gain a new theme: Bouchard's office. The man himself remains absent, much to Jon's relief; he's not up for analyzing that yet.

But he fears it’s only a matter of time that he has to.


	3. Panic

“In and out, Jon.”

As usual, Bouchard is standing behind Jon, hands on his shoulders. Jon leans back into the touch, taking a deep breath in through his nostrils and releasing it through his parted lips.

“Very good.” Bouchard’s voice is soft and approving, and Jon can’t help but shiver a little over it. “Now, I want you to rest one hand on your stomach and the other on your chest.”

Before Jon knows it, Bouchard is leaning over, reaching out for his wrists.

“I can,” he starts to say, but Bouchard is faster; he guides Jon’s hands to the spots he mentioned, onto the top of his stomach and his chest. Jon’s heart races beneath one palm while his stomach heaves hard and fast beneath the other, and he can feel his face heat over his reaction. “I could have done it myself,” he complains.

Bouchard laughs.

“Yes,” Bouchard whispers, his words hot against Jon’s ear. “But isn’t it more fun this way?”

Jon doesn’t get a chance to respond before a loud crash wakes him up.

It takes few moments for Jon to orient himself: he is in his bedroom, in his home. He can hear clattering in the kitchen, implying that his grandmother dropped something; everything is all right otherwise. So he gets up from the bed, heading instantly to his desk where his dream diary lies waiting with a pen on top of it. He flips it open and starts to write, his face burning as he remembers the details of the dream.

As he’s writing his entry down, he slowly becomes aware of his erection, straining in his boxers. He glances down at it, feeling like he’s on fire now; it’s been a while since he has become spontaneously hard, but that’s what this has to be, right? He can't be fantasizing about Bouchard.

His therapist is just- constantly on his mind now.

Jon sighs, closing the diary once he’s done writing. He glances down at his hard cock, grimacing; he needs to deal with it.

*

Today, Bouchard is late. His office is located in an old block of flats, at the bottom floor; Jon has to stand outside the door of his office, holding onto his bag and looking away from all curious people who walk past him. By the time Bouchard arrives, Jon is feeling quite irritated.

"You're late," he snaps, shouldering his bag as Bouchard reaches for his keys.

"I'm sorry, Jon." Bouchard is facing the door so Jon can't see him, but he can hear from Bouchard's voice that he is smiling. "I was held up by some unseen circumstances. Surely you understand?"

He opens the door, stepping aside so Jon can go in first.

"I suppose," Jon says, a little reluctantly. He wants to hold onto his anger; he is still feeling really weird about the morning and he wants to have some kind of leverage over Bouchard. He shrugs his coat off before sitting in the armchair closest to the door, dropping his bag and coat both on the floor as he tries not to huff in frustration. "There was a lot of traffic around here. I mean, in this building," he adds, still in the mood to complain.

Bouchard takes his time to settle in, hanging his own coat in the clothes rack and smoothing it out before digging his notepad and pen out of his bag. "Do people make you nervous?"

Jon shakes his head. "No, it's just that- well." He realizes he's wringing his hands; he halts, trying to even his breathing. It's embarrassing how wound up he is. "I don't know. I guess I don't want people to know that I come here all the time."

"Hmm." Bouchard finally sits down, resting his notepad against his thighs. "Are you ashamed of going to therapy?"

Jon looks down.

"Not the therapy itself," he says. "Just- some of the things it entails."

"I see." Bouchard sounds amused again. "Is this about our masturbation talk?"

Jon grimaces. "Can we talk about something else?"

"Of course." Bouchard's pen scratches against the paper as he writes. "What would you like to talk about?"

It's such an unfair question. Of course Jon doesn't know; their talk from the last session is the only thing he's been able to think of for whole week. It haunts him when he's awake, it haunts him when he's asleep; he has nothing else to talk about and he's sure Bouchard knows it. 

Jon bites his lip, fingers curling up against his thighs. He wants to scream.

“Well, I think there is something we could start exploring,” Bouchard says; Jon hates how calm and unbothered he sounds, a complete contrast to how Jon feels inside. “Namely, your dreams.”

From bad to worse, pretty much. Jon almost laughs.

“What is there to talk about them?” His voice sounds high and thin, and trying to clear his voice doesn’t make it any better. “They’re all nightmares, always.”

“And we need to figure out why that is,” Bouchard says, sternly. “Are you still dreaming of spiders?”

Jon can hear his breathing get heavier and faster “Yes.”

“We should explore this fear,” Bouchard says. “Understanding your fear will help you manage it, Jon. We should-”

The rest of Bouchard’s words are drowned out by static.

It takes Jon a moment to realize that the static is inside his head, turning it into cotton. He feels cold, numb; it’s like his body has become a stranger’s and he is just floating inside it, trying to root himself somewhere. He closes his eyes, trying to even out his rapid, shallow breathing and not having much success. He thinks his heart is about to burst out of his chest. He thinks he’s going to faint. 

He doesn’t hear Bouchard walking over to him, and he’s only vaguely aware of Bouchard taking a hold of his shoulder. It’s much harder to miss Bouchard reaching down for the front of his trousers, undoing the button.

“Wha-?” Jon opens his eyes, trying to focus. Bouchard is already unzipping his trousers and reaching inside, brushing his fingers over Jon’s clothed groin. “What are you doing?”

“You need to calm down, Jon. I will show you how.” Bouchard slips his hand inside the opening of Jon’s boxers, wrapping his long fingers around Jon’s cock. Jon gasps, his breathing getting even faster.

“I don’t-”

His words and thoughts are both cut off when Bouchard drags his fingers along Jon’s cock in a loose stroke, repeating the motion while tightening his hold. Soon, he is gripping Jon firmly as he strokes his cock in a quick rhythm.

“It’s a chore, of course,” Bouchard says, sliding his other hand across Jon’s shoulders until it’s on his neck. He grasps it, holding Jon tight. “But you have to think about the end result, Jon. The end result is that your body will feel good and relaxed, and your mind will follow.”

Jon wants to say something, but his brain is empty. All he can think of is the hand on his cock, touching him, making his entire body tingle. He realizes that his head doesn’t feel like cotton anymore, that he’s starting to feel present again, but his heart is beating faster than ever and he can still hardly breathe. He closes his eyes again, focusing on his breathing.

“That’s right, Jon. Breathe. Just breathe.”

Bouchard jerks on his cock which is now dripping pre-come from its tip, making it slick as Bouchard’s fist spreads the fluid down on his length. Jon squeezes his eyes tighter shut, back arching as he feels his balls tighten, his mouth falling open as he cries out. He pants, hips bucking a bit as his body begins to feel tingly, like it’s going to-

“That’s right, Jon,” Bouchard whispers, his lips right next to Jon’s ear as he strokes Jon harder and faster, and then Jon is coming.

Bouchard keeps stroking him through his orgasm, milking every drop of come out of his cock before stopping, letting his hand linger for a moment before finally pulling it away. Jon keeps his eyes closed, panting with an open mouth as his entire body goes slack, relaxing against the chair. He can’t believe he just- that Bouchard-

He feels exhaustion tug on him, and he lets it sweep him away.

*

He wakes up with a start a while afterward, finding himself still in the armchair and Bouchard at his side. He glances over to the clock on the wall, eyes going wide when he realizes it’s been an hour since their session ended; they hadn’t even been at the halfway point before his panic attack had happened. Bouchard has redressed him and apparently wiped away the semen, but he has had more than enough time to do other things.

Jon should be running for his life.

He straightens up in his chair, letting out a shuddering breath from between his lips as he looks at Bouchard, trying to keep himself from shaking.

“I- I think I’m done for today.”

Bouchard doesn’t move for a while, and Jon doesn’t dare to either. After a while, Bouchard nods, standing up and stepping away from Jon. Jon hesitates for a moment before pushing himself up from the chair, his legs feeling a little wobbly.

Aside from that shakiness, he feels better than he has felt in ages.

“We shall see each other next week?” Bouchard asks, walking back to his chair.

Jon should still be saying no.

“Yeah,” he says. “Next week.”

*

Jon holds out for few nights until he gives in, pushing his hand inside his boxers so he can start touching himself. It’s awkward; he tries to imagine visually pleasing people with their clothes off, but the images fail to stir him, even as he makes them do things together in his mind. He pulls at his barely stiff cock, trying not to groan in frustration.

It’s not before he lets Bouchard slip into his mind, when he remembers the slender hand on his cock and how surely, confidently it stroked him to completion, until he starts getting hard. It still takes him a while, but eventually Jon comes, imagining Bouchard breathe against his ear as he spills his seed on his fingers.

He falls asleep early that night.


	4. Escalation

Jon almost doesn’t go to the next meeting.

He does, however. Bouchard is on time this time, waiting for Jon at the door of his office when Jon arrives. He seems to be surprised by the sight of Jon, but that doesn’t stop him from stepping aside to let Jon walk in.

“I’m glad you came,” Bouchard says, closing the door behind them. “I wasn’t sure if- well.”

“Yeah.” Jon tries not to shiver when he hears the door lock; he has heard that sound several times by now, but it bears a whole new meaning now. “I did think about not coming,” he says, putting his bag down on the floor so he can shrug his coat off.

Bouchard’s hands come up on his shoulders, grasping the collar of his coat.

“But you did.” Bouchard pulls the garment over his shoulders, tugging it off. He is leaning close to Jon, unnecessarily, his breath warm on Jon’s neck. “Why, Jon?”

It’s a good question. There is no reason for Jon to be here, except that he wants the spiders to go away. He can’t say that Bouchard hasn’t helped him, no matter how utterly unprofessional he has been. Bouchard has to be doing something right, and Jon wants to see this to the end.

He is scared, of course, of what might happen before that end comes. But he doesn’t want to back off because he’s afraid.

“You can help me. I think that’s good enough a reason.” He steps out of Bouchard’s reach, picking his bag up from the floor before walking over to the chair he has come to think of as his. “Shall we get started?”

He is trying to keep his trembles inside him.

“Of course, Jon.” Jon can’t see Bouchard’s face properly as Bouchard walks over to the clothes rack, but he knows the man is smiling.

*

They dwell into Jon’s dreams during the session. As much as Jon hates it, he has to talk about his fear of spiders, his long history of it and how strong it is. He tries his best not to talk about how it began.

“You wouldn’t believe me,” he says to Bouchard, staring down at his knees.

“Try me. You know I won’t talk about any of this outside this room, Jon. Not even to your grandmother.”

Jon stays silent for a little while, but he can feel how the resistance inside him is fading. He sighs, his body slumping with defeat.

“I ran into a monster when I was a child.”

The silence on Bouchard’s end is unbearable to him.

“What happened?” Bouchard asks.

Jon takes a deep breath. “When I was eight years old,” he says, “my grandmother gave me a book.”

He feels distant from himself as he talks about the worst experience of his life. He hates that it sounds like a story, about a children’s book coming to life, deadly hypnosis and a bully caught in a crossfire; it’s like a revenge fantasy and a nightmare put together. It doesn’t sound like a real experience and Jon is painfully aware of it, and he can’t stop looking at Bouchard and trying to gauge his reaction. Does he believe him?

He wants to believe that it doesn’t matter.

It matters.

Bouchard lets him talk, not even taking notes; he just listens, looking over to Jon as Jon tells his story in increasingly frantic tone. By the time he has finished, Jon is breathing hard and fast, and he knows that another panic attack isn’t far.

"You have done very well, Jon."

It should make him panic more, seeing Bouchard rise from his chair and walk over to him until he’s close enough to touch. And he will touch him; Jon knows it. He also knows he’s going to allow it.

"You have gone through a horrible ordeal, Jon, and it's incredible that you survived it. It shows how special you are." Bouchard kneels down before him, reaching out to rest his elegant hands on Jon's thighs. "It’s a pity that this experience haunts you this much. I would like to help you feel better. Will you let me?"

Knowing he shouldn’t, Jon nods.

Bouchard doesn’t move first. Instead, he closes his eyes, taking a deep breath in through his nostrils. He remains like that as he starts to move his hands, stroking Jon’s legs slowly and surely, thumbs rubbing along the seams on the insides of Jon’s thighs. Jon is breathing heavily too, mouth falling open as he looks down at his therapist, unable to believe what he’s allowing to happen.

Finally, Bouchard slides his hands up to the front of Jon’s trousers, swiftly undoing the button and pulling the zipper down. It doesn’t take long for him to pull Jon’s cock out, wrap his fingers around its length.

“Relax,” Bouchard says, stroking him slowly. He pushes Jon’s knees wider apart with his free hand, settling between them. “This will help you feel good.”

Before Jon knows it, Bouchard leans down between his spread thighs and sucks the head of his cock into his mouth. Jon gasps, gripping at the arms of his chair as Bouchard holds the head of his cock between his hot lips, stroking the tender skin with the tip of his tongue. His cock is at half-mast now, throbbing softly.

Bouchard lets his fingers loop around the root of Jon’s cock as he takes Jon’s cock deeper into his mouth, sliding his lips up and down along his length before settling down to suck him hard, cheeks hollowing around Jon’s length. Jon cries out, hips arching a bit on the chair even as he tries to resist moving them, cock throbbing hard now. He never thought this could happen to him, that anyone would- he yelps as Bouchard pushes his head all the way down, his nose pressing down into Jon’s pubic hair as his throat closes around Jon’s cock. Jon's hips buck on their own accord, beyond his control.

Jon closes his eyes tight, panting through an open mouth as Bouchard’s throat squeezes and relaxes around his cock before withdrawing and then it’s just Bouchard’s mouth on him again, sucking him hard as Jon cries and whimpers. He can feel his balls tightening, his body burning hot as his orgasm gets nearer and nearer.

He’s moaning when he comes, thrusting up into Bouchard’s wet, warm mouth as he shoots his load into it. He falls slack against his chair, breathing heavily as his body relaxes, sleepiness taking him over. But this time, he doesn’t fall asleep. He just feels completely spent and empty, completely free.

He watches as Bouchard opens his mouth, letting his soft cock slip out from his mouth. When Bouchard looks up, his lips are stained with Jon’s spunk; he licks them clean slowly, making Jon shiver.

“Rest,” Bouchard says, and Jon does.

*

Jon wakes up to find Bouchard still on his knees before him.

Bouchard almost looks relaxed enough to be asleep, but Jon knows he isn't; his breaths are too measured and controlled for that. Bouchard has buried his face into Jon's lap and his arms are wrapped around Jon's waist, holding onto him loosely. The sight is bizarre and disorienting; Jon almost thinks he should pretend not to see. But when he starts to shift on his chair, perhaps to move away - he doesn't know - Bouchard's arms tighten around his waist.

"Jon," Bouchard whispers.

What can he do? Jon rests his hands on the top of Bouchard's head, and lets them stay there.


	5. Culmination

Their sessions get- _interesting_ from then on.

They still talk. They have a lot to talk about now, with Jon's spider trauma out, and it’s all distressing; when Bouchard leaves his chair at the end of the session and comes to Jon, Jon is always relieved and ready to receive him. It doesn’t matter then if Bouchard’s hands find their way beneath Jon’s clothes, and what they do once they’re there.

It makes him wonder just what is wrong with him.

Still, the therapy starts to have undeniable results. Jon sleeps now, not easily or without nightmares, but he dozes off at nights and wakes up feeling reasonably refreshed. Masturbation helps first, but at some point he starts falling asleep without it, his body developing a rhythm that it starts to follow. Eventually, his grandmother takes notice of his progress.

“I’m glad the therapy has been helping you so much,” she tells him one morning as they’re having breakfast together. “It’s important that a boy of your age gets to sleep properly. I was really worried about you.”

“Yeah” Jon says, taking a sip of his coffee. He has started to drink it recently, taking it black; he wonders how Bouchard likes his. “I’m glad things got better, too.”

“I have been thinking, however.” His grandmother gets serious, putting her own cup of coffee aside. “Do you feel it’s necessary anymore?”

That gives Jon a pause.

He hasn’t really thought about it, ending the therapy. He knows it has to end eventually; he can’t rely on Bouchard forever. But trying to do without Bouchard right now- the idea just fills him with dread. He finds himself clutching his cup with both hands, his insides shaking.

“I- I think I need to talk with Dr. Bouchard,” he says. “I’ll bring it up today.”

His grandmother nods, lifting her own cup back to her lips.

*

When he tells Bouchard about his grandmother’s plans, Bouchard remains stone-faced through it all. It makes Jon all the more nervous; he knows Bouchard will be powerless to stop his grandmother too, and once he’s out of Jon’s life, Jon will be left vulnerable. He’s going to stop sleeping again, the spiders are going to come back, he’s going to be at their mercy again-

“She’s right,” Bouchard says.

All Jon can do is blink. “What?”

“Your grandmother is right. It’s time to end this.” Bouchard stands up from his chair and walks briskly over to Jon, grasping him from his shoulders to steady him. It’s necessary because Jon is shaking hard now, unable to believe what he’s hearing.

“I’m not ready,” he whispers. “We just got started. I can’t do it on my own.”

“Yes, you can.” Bouchard grasps him tighter, leaning closer so he can stare deeper into Jon’s eyes, his gaze sharper than ever before. “Jon, we have worked on this together, but it’s your strength that has got you this far. I’ve only been your guide through this whole process. You are the one who took the important steps, who has made your progress happen. You will keep it going on your own. There is no doubt of that.”

“What if the nightmares get worse again? What if my methods stop working?” Jon can’t help himself; he reaches up to grab Bouchard from him wrists, squeezing them tight as his heart starts to beat faster and faster. “I won’t know what to do.”

“You will.” Bouchard leans closer still, his forehead touching lightly against Jon’s. “And to make sure of that, I will give you a parting gift you’ll never forget.”

With that, Bouchard inches his face downward just a bit, so he can slide his mouth over Jon’s.

It’s Jon’s first kiss. It’s light just for a moment before Bouchard opens his mouth against Jon’s lips, urging Jon’s lips to part along with his. Bouchard moves his hands to the back of Jon’s head, grasping him tight to keep him still as he slips his warm, wet tongue into Jon’s mouth. 

Jon moans into the kiss, reaching up to rest his hands on Bouchard’s shoulders; he should be pushing the man away, he knows that, he’s always known that. But he clutches onto Bouchard instead, holding him close as he lets Bouchard kiss him, opening up to him as Bouchard presses close to him. He gasps for breath when the kiss ends, shivering all over as Bouchard gives his lower lip a sharp nip.

“If you’d please get up,” Bouchard says, pulling away from him and taking a step backwards. His cock is bulging against his slacks; the sight makes Jon’s mouth go dry. He pushes himself up from the chair, following Bouchard.

They walk over to Bouchard’s desk. Jon expects Bouchard to be dramatic and wipe it clean, but instead Bouchard grasps Jon’s shoulders and starts to push him downwards onto his knees. Jon’s face flushes bright red when he realizes what’s being asked of him, but he doesn't resist; he feels small once he's down there, trembling as he finds himself face to face with Bouchard’s swollen groin.

“I’ve never,” he starts.

“I know, Jon. It’s all right.” Bouchard unbuckles his belt, the sound of it loud in the room. “You will learn now.”

Jon sits there on his knees while Bouchard exposes himself, taking his cock out. It’s notably larger than Jon’s own cock, thick and veiny and slick from the tip with pre-come. Bouchard pushes his fingers into Jon’s hair, stroking it before grasping him firmly, pulling Jon closer.

He doesn’t do more than that, so Jon is the one who has to take the next step: he opens his mouth wide and takes the head of Bouchard’s cock in, like Bouchard so often does with him. It feels plump and intimidating between his lips; he gives it an experimental suck, his heart beating fast in his chest when he hears Bouchard moan softly with approval. He opens his jaws wider, taking Bouchard’s length deeper in, looking up at the man as he squeezes his cheeks around his cock.

“You are such a fast learner,” Bouchard whispers, rubbing his fingertips against Jon’s scalp. “It’s truly remarkable.”

The words make Jon's blood rush harder than any of the physical activity so far has; he closes his eyes, running his tongue along the underside of Bouchard’s cock as he sucks on the warm, ample length, getting it wet and his own mouth full of its salty taste. He moves his head back and forth a little, his mouth sliding along the stiff flesh.

After a while, Bouchard pulls Jon off by his hair, leaving a string of saliva hanging between his now purplish prick and Jon’s gaping, trembling mouth.

“On the desk,” Bouchard says, his voice out of breath.

Jon nods, getting up on his shaky legs while Bouchard lifts the things on the desk off and tosses them onto the floor, standing to the side while Jon climbs up on the desk. He is on Jon after that, grasping the hem of Jon’s sweater and dragging it upwards, pulling it off him, tossing it aside before starting to unbutton the shirt Jon wears underneath. He makes quick work of it, soon running his hands all over Jon's naked torso, brushing his thumbs over Jon’s nipples and leaning down to kiss his neck. He nips at it very lightly as he drops his hands down to the front of Jon's trousers, pushing the button through the buttonhole.

It doesn’t take long until Bouchard is pulling his trousers off, and his underwear go even faster; Jon shivers as he finds himself sitting completely naked on the cool wood, feeling exposed and vulnerable. But soon Bouchard’s hands are on him and he feels secure again, shielded again, closing his eyes as one hand brushes over the curve of his arse and one slides between his thighs. When Bouchard’s mouth latches against his own again, Jon kisses him back, even daring to push his own tongue against Bouchard’s.

“You know,” Bouchard whispers against his lips once the kiss ends, stroking Jon’s cock firmly while pushing two fingers between Jon’s arse cheeks, caressing the sensitive flesh in between, “you always call me by my last name. I would like it if you called me Elias.”

A finger traces his hole, making Jon squirm. Bouc- _Elias_ pulls his hand away, taking his fingers to his mouth to get them wet before taking them back to Jon’s arse, and this time he starts to push a finger inside Jon. Jon arches against the intrusion, trying to relax his body; he knows what is going to happen and he knows it’s going to be intense, and he can’t afford to be tense. He needs this. For more reason than one.

Elias - how strange to think that, Elias - slides one finger all the way inside him before starting to push the second one in, thrusting lightly with both fingers. Jon tries not to let his body clench, but he isn’t entirely successful; he tightens around Elias’s fingers as Elias thrusts them harder inside him, slowly fucking him open until he’s panting heavily. Jon looks down between his own legs and is a little surprised to see just how hard he is, his cock standing stiff and red between his thighs.

“All right, I think this is enough.” Elias pulls his fingers out of Jon, leaving his hole to twitch around nothing as he urges Jon to lie fully down on the desk. “Wrap your legs around me.”

Jon doesn’t know if he can with all his shaking, but he makes an effort, and he manages to hook his legs around Elias’s narrow waist. Elias looms over him, holding his cock in one hand as he guides it to Jon’s waiting hole, using his other hand to smooth Jon’s hair out of his face. He leans down to kiss Jon on his forehead, his cheeks, trying to soothe him.

“You are so brave. You have always been so brave.”

The head of Elias's cock rests against Jon's hole for a moment, thick and heavy, before it starts to breach him, spreading him even wider open. Jon gasps, finding himself grasping and clutching at Elias’s shoulders as Elias starts to push inside him, closing his eyes as he tries to will his body to open up. He clenches tight around the cock sliding into him instead, back arching on the desk.

“You’re doing well, Jon.” Both of Elias’s hands are now in Jon’s hair, his fingers stroking through the short strands. “Relax. Let me in.”

Jon takes a deep breath in, letting it out as slowly as he can as he relaxes his body, allowing Elias to sink all the way inside him. They stay there like that for a while, Elias buried inside him to the hilt while Jon trembles on the desk, amazed at what is happening.

Elias starts to move, pulling his hips back and pushing forward with them again, his cock sliding within Jon. His breaths are hot and heavy against Jon’s neck as he thrusts into him, his fingers grasping his hair tight as he fucks him with increasing force, making the desk shake underneath them. Jon grips at Elias with hands and legs both, trying his best to keep his body soft and slack, open to Elias. He can’t help but grit his teeth over very thrust, overwhelmed by how full he feels.

He finds himself crying out when Elias’s cock starts slamming against his prostate, sending sparkles running through him as he grips Elias’s waist tighter with his legs, now wrapping his arms around Elias’s neck. He bends his head to the side so Elias can kiss along his neck, nip at it sharply with his teeth.

“Excellent boy,” Elias whispers against his throat, and that’s it; Jon comes.

He spills his seed on Elias’s belly, getting his shirt dirty, moaning out loud as Elias keeps fucking him through his orgasm, moving faster and harder until he goes still inside him, his teeth pressing hard against Jon’s throat but not fully biting down. He breathes harshly against Jon’s skin, filling Jon with his seed before his body goes slack on top of Jon’s, squeezing Jon's breath out of him.

It’s an uncomfortable position to be in: he’s naked and full of cock, his therapist is lying heavily on top of him, his spunk is drying fast between their bodies. Somehow, Jon falls asleep anyway.

*

He doesn’t sleep for long, however. When he opens his eyes, Elias is still there, stroking the side of his face with his fingertips as he looks down on Jon, his eyes unreadable.

“Elias,” Jon says.

That seems to be the only invitation Elias needs; he kisses Jon, deeply, with hunger. He runs his hands along Jon’s body, stroking his skin and whatever little muscle he has, feeling up his ribs.

The moment the kiss ends and Elias starts to pull away from him, Jon can feel his dread returning. He grabs Elias from his elbows before he has a chance to step away, gripping them tight.

“I don’t know if I can do it,” he whispers, looking Elias in the eye.

“You can.” Elias rests his hand on the side of Jon’s neck, stroking the line of his jaw with his thumb. “You are a strong young man, Jon. You just haven't internalized this yet.”

Elias takes him by the hands, helping him off the desk. They have to move carefully because Jon is feeling so tender all over, but they manage to get themselves dressed, Elias much faster than Jon of course. Jon can’t believe this is really it, that the therapy is finally over for him.

How is he supposed to be like a normal human again?

“I have something for you,” Elias says, interrupting his thoughts.

He digs up a card from his shirt pocket and hands it over to Jon.

“Whenever you need me, you can call me,” Elias says, stroking Jon’s cheek with the back of his hand. “I hope you’ll realize soon that you don’t have to, however. That you can do anything on your own.” He smiles to Jon, stepping closer so kiss Jon on his forehead. “But I look forward to hearing about in another context.”

Jon stares at him. “Like what?”

Elias keeps smiling. “You’ll see.”

*

Much to Jon’s surprise, Elias is right. Initially, Jon needs the memory of his first time to push himself to sleep as his life changes again, but eventually things settle; he can manage a decent night’s sleep without resorting to extreme methods. Things aren’t perfect, but they are as close to it as he can be; spiders will never be completely gone, but they can be kept at bay.

Jon could, in theory, be normal. He’s never going to be normal, but he can perhaps pretend convincingly.

Every now and then, he looks at the card Elias gave to him, thinking of his therapist and wondering what this Magnus Institute is all about.


End file.
